Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Welcome Em Brown today

BAD GIRLS IN
FICTION: THUMBS UP OR DOWN?

Can a
romance/erotic romance heroine be bad? If so, how bad can she be?

And by “bad,”
I mean a more traditionally negative sense of the word. Not “badass” as in a
Lara Croft type heroine who can kick butt. Not “naughty” as in heroines who
experiment with a little BDSM. Not “unconventional” as in the historical
romance heroine who curses and drinks like a sailor and refuses to ride
side-saddle.

In SEDUCING
THE MASTER, an erotic historical, the flawed female protagonist, Miss Terrell,
has it bad for Master Gallant. And she’ll go to great
lengths to seduce him. But her brazen tactics make her the proverbial
bull-in-a-china-shop. Terrell can come across aggressive, cunning and selfish.
Others might see her as assertive, resourceful, and a woman who isn’t afraid to
go after what she wants. Scarlett O'Hara from Gone With The Wind elicits similar dual responses. She is vain,
spoiled and cunning while also seen as strong-willed and resourceful.

Now, “bad
boys” abound in romance novels. The male protagonist can be arrogant, ruthless,
and coldhearted. He can be a jerk who cares more about money/business than
people. Yet we forgive these men their flaws when they fall in love with the
heroine. But can it work if the roles are reversed and the heroine starts out
with the negative characteristics? Or do we hold women to higher standards?

Have you ever
enjoyed a book featuring a “bad” girl? What made her “bad”? Tweet me your
thoughts at twitter.com/gddessunleashed or #BadGalsInFiction.

No man has ever resisted the charms of Miss
Terrell before, but Master Gallant refuses to grant her request and have his
way with her.

After losing a wager to the proprietress of
the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where patrons take carnal pleasures to wicked
and wanton extremes, Charles Gallant reluctantly accepts an assignment to train
Miss Katherine, a neophyte, in the ways of submission. His task, no easy
undertaking for Miss Katherine is petrified by the goings on at the Red
Chrysanthemum, is made more challenging by the constant distraction of a most
persistent seductress — Miss Terrell.

A former slave from the West Indies, Terrell
depends upon the Red Chrysanthemum for room and board. Her only prospect for a
comfortable life is to become the mistress of a man with means. Sir Arthur, a
wealthy Member of Parliament, is just such a man. Having staked his claim of
her, he expects her full devotion. But Terrell cannot quell her scorching
desire for Master Gallant, whose deft hand and command of rope bondage inflame
her deepest, darkest cravings.

All this comes at an unfortunate time for
Charles as he pursues his own election to Parliament. Succumbing to Miss
Terrell would be a disastrous mistake. For her sake, he would not wish to incur
Sir Arthur’s wrath. For his own, he risks the endorsement of Sir Arthur, whose
support would assure him victory at the polls.

Miss Terrell, however, is intent on seducing Master
Gallant. Only one thing can stop her, but it will devastate them both.

He pinned her with a
solemn stare. “Behave yourself, Miss Terrell, or I will remove you by force.”

“I should like nothing
more than to receive your punishment, Master Gallant.”

He inhaled sharply. The
saucy jade. Catching her off-guard with a quick movement, he wrapped his arm
about her waist and whirled her over to the other side of the doorframe. She
landed against the wall with a soft thud. Disengaging himself, he grabbed the
handle of the door and pulled, intending to depart without his usual civility.

To his surprise, the door
did not open. At first he thought it to be stuck, but then he noticed that the
key was missing from the lock. He turned to look at Miss Terrell, whose lips
curled in a slight but telling grin.

He could hardly believe
the woman—the chit. Did she truly intend to hold him hostage?

“Produce the key, Miss
Terrell,” he commanded.

She returned a smoldering
stare. “Dominate me first. Do unto me as you had done to Mistress Scarlet.”

He felt his nostrils
flare. He needed no second reminders of her,
especially from Miss Terrell, who now tested his patience much like Greta had,
but for wholly different purposes.

He stared at her in
disbelief. No woman had ever made such a request of him. He wanted to reiterate
that she knew not what she spoke. She had witnessed but one instance of the
punishment he had applied to Miss Greta.

As if guessing his
thoughts, she added, “I can withstand anything you desire to do to me, Master
Gallant.”

“That is a bold and
foolhardy statement. You know nothing of what I am capable.”

Pressing herself back
against the wall, she cupped her breasts and caressed her ribs before resting
her hands near her crotch. “Prove me wrong. I dare you to.”

He shook his head. He was
done with challenges.

“I vow I can endure more
than Mistress Scarlet, more than any person of either sex. I could be the most
perfect submissive for you.”

“Unlikely. You have
already shown a penchant for misbehavior.”

“You could correct my
waywardness.”

He frowned—because the
prospect did not repulse him as he would have wanted it to.

“You need have no
reservation with me,” she continued. “You would be free to unleash your full
strength, to test the breadth of your wicked creativeness.”

His blood pumped
forcefully through his veins at her words. She cupped her mons through her
skirts, and a renewed sense of urgency swelled in him.

“Miss Terrell, this tête-à-tête serves no purpose. I bid you
desist from wasting your time as well as mine.”

Stepping forward, she
grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled herself closer to him. Lust burned
like anger in her eyes, calling to a primal part of him that he could not
ignore. Her skirts brushed against his legs, and her corset nearly touched
where his hardened length was fast becoming visible.

“Then ravage me.”

She reached for his
burgeoning erection, but, dropping his articles, he grasped both her wrists and
pinned them above her head to the door behind.

“Miss Terrell, I am done
with this tomfoolery. Produce the key.”

She squirmed a little in
his hold. “I should be happy to, Master Gallant, after you have had your way with me. You cannot deny that you
desire to do so.”

She lowered her gaze to
his crotch. He pressed his lips together in a grim line. The scent of the
pomade she used in her hair wafted into his nose once more. Their bodies were
far too close together for comfort. She slid her leg along his. Holding her
wrists aloft with one hand, he cupped her chin with the other and lifted her
gaze to meet his eyes.

“The key, Miss Terrell,”
he demanded, unable to keep the vexation from his voice.

She did not blink and
demanded, equally hotly, “Ravageme.”

Her words rang in his ears
like a song of sirens. The air between them grew thin. With a frustrated grunt,
he yanked her from the door and dragged her across the room to the sideboard
where he kept the ropes.